


Papa Was a Rodeo

by fitz_y



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1930s, Angst, Community: kink_bingo, Cowboys, Dubious Consent, M/M, Male Slash, Sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-14
Updated: 2011-08-14
Packaged: 2017-10-24 22:22:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitz_y/pseuds/fitz_y
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1937. Lance and Percival are cowboys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Papa Was a Rodeo

**Author's Note:**

> Percival has wormed his way into my heart, [](http://lassroyale.livejournal.com/profile)[**lassroyale**](http://lassroyale.livejournal.com/) , I blame you! From the [](http://summerpornathon.livejournal.com/profile)[**summerpornathon**](http://summerpornathon.livejournal.com/) 2011 entry: sleep/dreams. Also for my [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**kink_bingo**](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) square: “sleepy/unconscious”.

Living on the circuit, there was no time for tomorrows, no words for goodbye. One competition followed one seasonal job followed one town followed one competition. The rhythm of truck wheels, train whistles, cars blasting by an upturned thumb, coffee brewing in all-night diners, it was a ruthless beat that thrummed low and steady in him. Which was why long before any roosters crowed or the sun scrambled over the horizon, Percy awoke.

The stars stared back at him, the dragon, the lion, the bear. The fire had died, yet dawn was but a distant thought. He reached out under the scratchy blanket, tracing over Lance’s hard stomach, the contours of his chest, his nipples. Lance let out a snore. Percy couldn’t see it, but he knew a long bruise would be blooming down Lance’s right side like a wide river. He had struggled to stand after falling from the steer last night, rolling in the dirt away from its trampling hooves. Gently Percy let his fingers trail over Lance’s ribs, Lance inhaled sharply, but did not stir. Only in his sleep was Lance ever still, at rest.

Soon the rooster would crow, soon Percy would be thumbing his dusty way to Omaha for summer work, pockets empty, Stetson pulled low against the sun. Most likely Lance would head south through Texas, chasing the competitions. He never stayed in one place more than a week. Something cold and frantic drove him, and Percy had never asked what it was.

His fingers kneaded at Lance’s thighs, solid from years of riding horses and steers. Percy had to go, now, if he was going to reach Omaha in three days. Sullivan’s jobs went fast. Lance sighed in his sleep, worn out, bruised. Last night they’d been brutal and quick, passing out sandwiched together against the night chill. It hadn’t been enough. With Lance it was never enough. He was an ache Percy couldn’t quite soothe, a mystery he couldn’t solve, silent and noble, focused on the moment and tortured by a past that Percy could only wonder at. He needed more, needed Lance’s skin underneath him, around him, a warm memory to think on as he trudged west.

Fingers slow and insistent as want spiraled awake in his own body, Percy traced the warm heaviness of Lance’s balls, the insides of his thighs, his cock that was slowly taking interest. Lance’s breathing quickened, and when Percy rolled him to his left side, he went easily, moaning as Percy crowded against him, tangled his legs in Lance’s, pulled Lance’s back to his chest, bucked his hips against the firmness of Lance’s buttocks. Lance’s body knew his touch, trusted it instinctively—at that thought, Percy went rock hard. He shifted so there was just enough space between their bodies, spat once, twice, on his fingers and then he was nudging, pushing at Lance’s furled entrance, still stretched and loose from last night. He slid two fingers into him, felt the tacky remains of his own seed. He burned to fill Lance up again, leave him with just one more piece of himself, have him like this, pliant and at peace.

With one hand on Lance’s hip, Percy guided himself in inch by inch, slowly so as not to wake him. Lance’s body tightened around his cock, and with a jolt, everything locked into place inside him; the grime and the ache and the uncertainty backed off. All that mattered now was their bodies’ overlap. With one arm banded over Lance’s chest, Percy rocked gently into him, and wrapped his other hand around Lance’s cock, now completely awake even while the rest of him slept. “Take this with you,” his body said. “Stay alive.” “Come back to me.” He moved faster, creating friction in Lance’s wrung-out body.

Gasping, Lance spilled warm seed over Percy’s fingers, and Percy’s release whooshed out of him, barreling through him, pouring into Lance. He pressed close, burying his nose in Lance’s thick hair that smelled of barn and fireside.

Lance shifted so Percy slipped out of him, and rolled onto his back. He was awake.

“Hey.” Percy pushed himself up and peered down. In the dim light, Lance’s eyes were dark pools. “You headin’ south?” he asked after a beat.

“Yeah.” Lance’s sleep-scratched voice was low.

“I’ll see you around then, yeah?”

“Sure.” But there was a subtle smile on Lance’s lips.

Percy stood to pull on his clothes, shoulder his pack, and follow the road to Omaha.


End file.
